


Sherlock or The Snow Boy

by bisexualcyborg



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst, Challenge 2, Gen, Kidlock, Let's Write Sherlock, M/M, Sherlock is a snowman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:34:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualcyborg/pseuds/bisexualcyborg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lonely little John Watson makes a snowman, which miraculously comes to life.<br/>Written for Let's Write Sherlock's Challenge 2, and based on the Russian fairy tale Sneguroshka.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock or The Snow Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Sherlock or The Snow Boy (FR)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166033) by [ellanather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellanather/pseuds/ellanather)



> This is my take on Let’s Write Sherlock’s Challenge 2, which was to rewrite a fairy tale, using characters from BBC Sherlock. I wanted to re-interpret the Russian fairy tale “Sneguroshka, or the Snow Maiden”, which has always been one of my absolute favourites. I also think it’s very symbolic of John and Sherlock, and their relationship. If you want the entire meta-rambling, there’s a rather long note at the end of this story.

Once upon a time, in a small village in the country-side, there was a boy named John Watson. He had two parents and a big sister named Harry, who was always sad and angry. And so his parents tried to make Harry happier, but in doing so they often forgot about John, who seemed happy already. But John wasn’t really happy. His family paid little attention to him, and while he did have a few friends in the village, he felt like they didn’t really care for him. Because of this, John Watson often felt very lonely. 

This changed abruptly on a cold December night. John was tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep. It had been snowing all day, and the light of the full moon reflected on the pristine snow, shining through John’s curtains. Deciding there was no use in staying in bed, as sleep obstinately refused to come, John threw back the covers and stepped out of bed. He quickly got dressed and snuck down the stairs and out of the front door, into the garden. There, he stood still for a moment, staring at the silvery glow of the moonlight on the snow. He knelt down on the ground, cold wetness seeping through his jeans and making him shiver. His gloved hands scooped up a handful of snow and started rolling it into a ball, adding more snow and making it bigger. Soon he was crawling through the snow on his knees, pushing the growing snowball in front of him.  
When he deemed it big enough, he made a second smaller ball, then a third, and piled them upon each other. He then carefully set to work, smoothing and shaping the snow into a human form. He painstakingly sculpted a high brow, sharp cheekbones, an aquiline nose. Stuck with an idea, he snuck back into the house for a moment and came back with a few supplies: dried cranberries, to make plush, scarlet lips; two aquamarines, remnants of a pair of Harry’s earrings that she had destroyed in a rage when her latest girlfriend had broken up with her, served as iridescent eyes; the feathers of a blackbird arranged into smooth ebony curls.  
John stepped back to admire his work. Before him stood an incredibly lifelike boy of snow, a bit taller than John himself, a slight twinkling in the gems of his eyes. John sighed wistfully: “If only you could be my friend.”  
“I’ve never had a friend before.”  
John gaped in astonishment as the snow boy took a step forward and extended his hand, clarly intending to shake John’s.  
“My name is Sherlock, who are you?” he enquired, in a voice that was just a little deep for his age.  
“But… But… You’re not real! You can’t be real! You’re a snowman, I made you, you can’t possibly be alive!” John spluttered.  
“Obviously I am. You’re awake, so you aren’t dreaming. There’s nobody outside at this hour of the night, so nobody could have taken my place. Besides, where would a snowman suddenly have disappeared to? Therefore, though I am indeed a snowman, I am also alive; once you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Now, are you going to tell me your name?”  
Still a bit shocked, but accepting the sense in Sherlock’s words, John shook his hand: “I am John Watson.”  
“Pleased to meet you. Now let’s go.”  
“Let’s go where?”  
“Into the woods. That stupid squirrel has forgotten where it hid its cache, again, and it has enlisted my help. Now are you coming or not?”  
“Of course I am!” 

From that day on, every night, Sherlock came to wait for John outside his house and they’d spend the night helping solve the problems of the animals in the forest. John was often tired during the day, but that didn’t matter because neither his parents nor his sister noticed anything. His old friends never talked to him anymore, but he didn’t care; he had Sherlock now, and he’d never been so happy in his entire life. The nights with Sherlock were amazing; sometimes dangerous, sometimes fun, always exciting, and John lived for the moments when the pale boy would grab his hand with his cold fingers and tug him along into a new adventure.  
Sherlock was usually a whirlwind, reckless and arrogant and energetic, running around and rattling off facts and observations, barely stopping to breathe, and John found himself fascinated, utterly mesmerized by his new friend. However, as spring drew near and the nights grew shorter, the boy of snow became more silent and broody. John kept trying to cheer him up, and often succeeded by shamelessly flattering him. Sherlock was more than a bit vain about his deductive skills, but John didn’t mind; he was really, truly fantastic, and John always meant every single of his compliments. 

Around the end of March, Sherlock’s mood deteriorated further. He wasn’t just broody anymore; he seemed sad and genuinely distressed. One night, as they were walking through the woods back to John’s house, he suddenly grabbed John’s hand and looked him right in the eye, aquamarine shimmering in the moonlight.  
“I’m going to have to leave you soon.” he stated.  
John looked aghast: “But... You can’t! You can’t leave me!”  
“Believe me, I wish I didn’t have to.” A solitary icy tear slid down his pale cheek.  
John’s lower lip trembled: “I’d miss you too much, Sherlock. Please stay with me.”  
He reached out to his friend, trying to pull him close, but he embraced only thin air. The only thing left of Sherlock, brilliant, lovely, fantastic Sherlock, was an icy mist, tendrils gently caressing John’s face one last time before drifting away forever.  
Snow boys are not made for emotions, you see, and the warmth of his love for John had melted Sherlock’s icy heart, and with it, his entire body had evaporated into the starry moonlit sky.  
All around John, snow started to melt, birds sang softly, and colourful flowers sprouted from the ground. But John noticed none of this, for in his heart, it was suddenly very, very cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, meta-rambling: the original story (which you can read here: http://myths.e2bn.org/mythsandlegends/textonly2648-the-snow-maiden.html, and here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snegurochka) features a couple that can’t have children and so makes a snow girl who becomes their daughter. I chose to replace the infertile couple by a lonely, friendless John, just like he was at the beginning of A Study In Pink. Then, he meets Sherlock. In this story, he does more: he makes Sherlock. This symbolism really appealed to me, because I think John also helped make Sherlock into the person he is in canon (we hear Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson implying as much).  
> Then Sherlock takes control very quickly, and John goes along with it. They go on adventures and start caring for each other deeply. I chose to write them as children, partly simply because it’s a fairy tale, but also because I wanted to suggest the possibility that Sherlock might be an imaginary friend, a fake, just like he's accused of being in The Reichenbach fall.  
> Which brings us to the ending. There are two versions to this story: in one, Sneguroshka simply jumps over a bonfire while playing with her friends, and evaporates; in the second, she falls in love with a shepherd and her love for him makes her melt. I chose the second ending, because it reflects the way Sherlock’s love for John (whether you want to interpret it as platonic or romantic is another question, but it’s definitely love) literally causes his downfall in canon. And John ends up alone, again.  
> (Yes I know, I made myself sad too).
> 
> Please leave me a review?


End file.
